


Aurora Borealis

by blue_morning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canada, Alternate Universe - College/University, Aurora Borealis, Dean/Cas Tropefest 2019, Geologist Dean, M/M, New Year's Eve, Northern Lights, Polar Bears - Freeform, Professor Castiel (Supernatural), forced to spend the night together, misunderstandings and misinterpretations, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 17:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_morning/pseuds/blue_morning
Summary: When Professor Castiel Novak, newly single, decides to cross seeing the northern lights off his bucket list, he gets a lot more than he bargains for: stalked by a polar bear, rescued by a handsome stranger, and seduced into a night of passion. Regretting his choices in the morning, he leaves without even finding out this mystery man’s last name.Back at home he finds that he can’t stop thinking about that night and the man who saved his life. Realizing that he has no way to contact this man he now knows he’s fallen for, Cas throws himself into his work and tries to forget. When fate throws them together a second time, can they work things out?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh this challenge was so much fun! Thank you to Jojo and Muse for another well-run and fun challenge, your hard work means so much!
> 
> First and always, thank you to [Janet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze) and [Nat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePamelaOracle/pseuds/ThePamelaOracle) for making my work better. I don't know what I would do without you both.
> 
> The amazing art in this story was done by [Deli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/deli). I cannot believe how closely she captured what was in my imagination and brought it to beautiful, colourful life. I enjoyed working with her so much! As well as appearing in the story, you can find her art on [Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18781270), [Tumblr](https://delicious-irony.tumblr.com/post/184787472793/northern-lights), and [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/647602).

Dr. Castiel Novak leans forward in his office chair and clicks the play button on the YouTube video for the fourth time. The dance of feathery lights in the night sky, the dip and sway of green aurora against velvet blackness, is mesmerizing. He sighs. He wants to see them in person, before he moves back to Kansas. He’s got, what, four more months here to make it happen? But it’s so far. And he’s busy. And he doesn’t want to go alone, it had always been the plan to see the lights with… Well, it’s just not going to happen, that’s all there is to it.

Abandoning his laptop, he pulls a stack of first-year mineralogy papers towards him, and with a sigh, starts to mark them. His office door opens abruptly, swinging back to hit the wall with a bang, and a small, dark-haired woman marches into the room. From the look on her face, she’s got a head of steam up about something, and he’s sure it doesn’t mean anything good for him.

“Meg?” he says carefully. She’s the head admin for the Earth Sciences department, and Cas’s best friend.

“I’m gonna kill him this time, Clarence.”

“What did he do?” ‘Him’, Cas figures, refers to Zachariah, the head of the department, and, in descending order, a pompous idiot, a petty jerk, and a lech. But a well-connected one.

“He let one of the microprobe techs go. Said they were not ‘working up to expectations.’“

“Yong Li or Tasha?”

“Tasha. Poor girl. He probably propositioned her in that smarmy yet plausibly deniable way of his and snapped when she turned him down. I warned her about him.”

“She’s not the one who needs warning.”

Meg boosts her butt up to sit on Cas’s desk next to his pile of exam papers, swinging her legs. “I’d love to be able to catch him at it. Get him fired.” Her eyes wander over Cas’s desk, landing on the still-open laptop, browser open to the northern lights video. This distracts her from her tirade. “Are you still looking at those? Cas. Do it. Go up to Churchill, or the Yukon. Go see them.” She looks at him.

“I can’t Meg, I’ve got two classes to teach this semester, plus the grad students, and working on the ore models. And there’s Spock to think about.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Cas, I’ll look after the cat for you.”

“You don’t like cats,” he reminds her.

“True. But I like you, and you never do anything for yourself. Let go, live a little! Do something just for the hell of it. Don’t analyze it to death.” She smiles at him and he feels a reluctant smile break out on his face.

Moving to Toronto for a year to fill in for a professor on sabbatical was out of character for him, scary, even, considering his regimented plans for advancing his career, and Meg seemed to know this. She started by bringing him coffee, then inviting him places, not letting him spend all his time brooding alone. This year at the University of Toronto was supposed to be about career progression and a safe place to lick his wounds after his breakup with Michael. It had turned out to be much more, and Meg’s friendship was to thank for that.

“Winter break is in two weeks. If you’re not going back to Kansas for Christmas,” Meg pauses to take in his violent head-shaking, “you can spend Christmas with me, and head up north for a few days over New Year’s. It’s winter, that’s got to be prime northern-lights-watching time. Your place is like five blocks from mine, I can go once a day and make sure Spock’s got food and water.” She stops, satisfied that she’s headed off all of his objections.

Cas grumbles something under his breath. Meg is pretty sure she makes out the word ‘bossy’ and she smiles. “Start doing some research on the trip after you mark those papers.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Cas says with a mock salute.

Cas looks at the trip itinerary: Churchill Manitoba, perched on the edge of Hudson Bay, not too far south of the Arctic Circle—it’ll be hell of a plane ride: Toronto to Winnipeg, Winnipeg to Churchill, but the lure of those magical bands of light is irresistible. He’s really doing this. He’s got an Airbnb booked in Churchill, which is a smaller town than he’d imagined, and he’s leaving tomorrow.

Lying in bed, Spock curled up on the pillow next to him, Cas can’t help but to poke at memories like a sore tooth.

_Cas drops a quick kiss on Michael’s cheek and squashes onto the couch beside him, reaching for the laptop on Michael’s lap._

_“I found it. I found the perfect vacation. Think north. Think cold. Think beautiful,” Cas says. Careful not to close the tab Michael has open on the screen, he opens his email and clicks on a link._ Visit beautiful Churchill Manitoba: Northern Lights, Polar Bears and Belugas _is emblazoned across the screen over a photo of a bear ambling across the snow under a sky full of curtains of light._

Cas was sure that moving to Toronto would make things better. He’d break out of old routines and he’d get over the hurt and confusion of losing Michael and learn to live happily by himself.

Clearly, he was wrong.

Cas resolutely pushes aside thoughts of Michael and concentrates on the coming adventure. He’s going north and finally seeing the aurora borealis, the northern lights, for himself. Alone, which isn’t how he’d imagined it, but he can live with that. _Stop thinking about Michael._

The next morning goes remarkably smoothly, an omen perhaps? Cas is up and dressed and drinking coffee when Meg arrives to drive him to the airport. He’s written extensive notes for her on the care and feeding of Spock, who realizes what the suitcase means and is studiously ignoring Cas from her perch on top of the fridge.

Traffic is lighter than usual, a lot of people home for this week between Christmas and New Year’s, and Meg drops him off at Pearson International Airport with time to spare. The flight from Toronto to Winnipeg passes quickly, and before he knows it, he’s riding down an escalator in Winnipeg’s Richardson International, on his way to the gate for his connecting flight to Churchill.

He’s got more than an hour to kill, so he stops in a convenience store kiosk along the main concourse to get some gum and a replacement pair of earbuds. As he’s trying to decide what colour Skullcandy he wants, his traitorous brain replays a scene from the past.

_“Cas, have you seen my earbuds?” Michael is fresh from the shower, running shorts framing muscular thighs, phone in one hand and tee shirt in the other. “I thought I left them on the counter, but they’re not there.”_

Someone bumps against him as they brush past in the narrow aisle of the ministore, jolting him out of his reverie.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice says, and Cas looks up as the man smiles a quick apology and heads for the cashier. Cas refocuses on the earbud display, and it takes a second for his brain to catch up with his eyes. All thoughts of Michael flee as Cas whips his head around and takes in the man who’d brushed past him. He’s standing at the cash register flipping his wallet open. He’s dressed in jeans and boots, a flannel shirt unbuttoned over a tee shirt, navy blue parka folded over his arm. Light brown hair is casually mussed and he’s bestowing a dazzling smile on the cashier. By the time Cas has remembered that staring is rude, the man is gone, striding out of the store and down the concourse. Cas sighs to himself and pays for his gum, new earbuds (blue), and a couple of bars of chocolate.

He finds his gate and sits down, checking his phone for emails. There aren’t too many other passengers present, about thirty, he estimates. It’s a small plane, a turboprop, that’s going to take them from Winnipeg to Churchill. He glances around. Several groups of twenty-somethings, some with small kids in tow, a retired couple, and a few men on their own, like him. He looks closer at the far bank of seats. The man from the store is there, his parka on the seat beside him, and he’s intent on his own phone. A smile flits across his face as he scrolls through whatever it is that he’s looking at. Cas finds himself staring more than once, and has to force his eyes down to his own phone.

Before he knows it, they’re calling his flight. The plane is too small for a jetway, so they’re led down a flight of stairs and across the cold and windy tarmac before climbing into the plane. Parka guy is a few groups ahead of him, so he’s already seated when Cas enters the plane and shuffles his way down the narrow aisle to his seat. He tries not to stare, but it’s not like the man would notice anyway, his eyes are closed. Discomfort is written plainly across his handsome face. He’s pale and breathing quickly. _Oh,_ Cas thinks, _he’s afraid of flying_. For some reason, he wants very badly to stop and say a few words of comfort, but realizes how weird that would be, and continues to his own seat a few rows back.

The flight to Churchill is a bumpy one. More than once Cas thinks about the man a few rows ahead and hopes that he’s not too stressed. He spends the time working on his laptop, and composing an answer an email from his mother, who’s still reacting passive-aggressively to Cas’s decision to skip going home and spending Christmas in Toronto instead. When they reach Churchill, it’s already dark; the winter sun sets early this far north. Again they make the trek across the cold tarmac to the warmth of the airport. Cas cranes his neck to see if he can catch sight of the man once they’re inside, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

 _Probably for the best,_ Cas thinks, _what would I say to him anyway?_ After waiting for his baggage to show up on the airport’s lone carousel, he climbs tiredly into a cab waiting outside and gives the address of his rental house. It’s been a long day. It isn’t until he’s finally relaxing with beer and a sandwich from the groceries in the fridge that had been thoughtfully supplied by his host, that Cas realizes he hasn’t thought of Michael since the Winnipeg airport.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day is New Year’s Eve. Cas has signed up for an aurora-watching tour, they’re going to be driven out on the tundra away from the lights of Churchill. There’s some worry about the weather; it’s clear now, but overcast might be setting in as there’s a cold front coming that might be bringing snow. He’s tired from his day of travel, but excited to be finally seeing the aurora.

Cas dresses carefully for the cold night. He layers on a tee shirt and a sweater over long johns and jeans, topping it off with a parka, tuque and heavy gloves. He’s booked on a tundra buggy excursion to see the northern lights. By day, these elevated bus-like vehicles are used to cross the tundra in search of polar bears. At night, they go searching for more celestial sights. The buggies are heated, and have comfy seating and even a bathroom, but Cas hopes to be able to get out once they leave the lights of town and photograph the aurora in the open air. He piles on with around twenty other people and they soon start shedding their outerwear in the warmth of the buggy. With a lurch, the buggy gets underway. Windows all around and even in the roof show the dark indigo sky as they leave the halo of light around Churchill and head out onto the tundra.

Cas chats with the two women seated closest to him. They introduce themselves as Charlie and Dorothy. They’ve flown up from Chicago to come see the bears and the northern lights. They’re funny and gregarious, and Cas thinks Meg would probably get along with Dorothy, the snarkier of the two.

The buggy eventually comes to a stop near a rare stand of conifers. The tour guide, a woman in her late twenties, passes around trays of snacks. As it’s New Year’s the snacks are being washed down with plastic glasses of champagne. Charlie adds to the festivities with a flask of something fiery that she shares with Dorothy and Cas.

“What is that stuff, Cas says, sputtering at the burn that’s flowing down his throat.

““It’s ginger brandy and peppermint schnapps,” Charlie says gleefully. “It keeps the snow snakes away.”

Cas looks owlishly at her. “There are no such things as snow snakes.”

“Well, if you don’t see any around, then it’s working.” She collapses in a pile of giggles and Dorothy hauls on her elbow to make sure she doesn’t fall off the seat.

Dorothy takes the flask out of Charlie’s hand and puts it on the seat beside her. They stop talking as the tour guide begins to tell them the Cree and Ojibwe legends of the northern lights.

“My name is Cheryl Okemow and I’m Cree. My family has lived on these lands for many, many generations. The Cree believe that the aurora is the spirits of the dead who remain in the sky, apart from their loved ones. They believe that the lights are spirits of these departed friends and relatives trying to communicate with those they’ve left behind on Earth. _Wawatay_ , the aurora borealis or the northern lights, have always fascinated people since the dawn of time. 

One story, passed on from generation to generation, is that _Wataway_ are spirits of the ancestors celebrating life, reminding us that we are all part of Creation. Their dancing forms a pathway for the souls as they travel to the next world. The story tells us that when we leave this earth, we will dance out the doorway to the next world in spirit form. When we do, our relatives will meet us. Those left living on the earth will look up and see the northern lights dancing in the sky and be comforted.”

A hush falls over the people in the tundra buggy as the first green wisps appear in the sky to the north. As if an errant invisible paint brush were swirling colour across the vastness of the night sky, the wisps lengthen, becoming curtains of green that shimmer and dip, dancing to music that no one can hear. Cas takes the flask that Charlie passes to him and drinks, and hands it back. 

Now another colour joins the ballet. A ruby-red ribbon unfurls under the green curtains and waves gently. This is more than Cas had hoped for. He struggles to get into his coat, grabbing his camera and tripod and heading for the door of the buggy. A few other hardy souls have decided not to shoot through the buggy windows and are heading out as well. Cas has adjusted the settings on his camera ahead of time, and tucks his gloves in his pocket as he steps down onto the ground. Even without wind, the cold is breathtaking. What he sees before him makes him forget the cold instantly. The stars are blazing in pure white counterpoint to the aurora. Cas feels there should be music, ethereal, faerie symphonies from the cosmos. He sets up his tripod and takes some photos, the spindly spruce trees are dark silhouettes in the foreground against the immensity of the decorated sky. 

He feels so small. One man under the vastness of the overarching sky and the dizzying swoops and shimmers of the aurora. Heedless of the cold burning at his hands, he stands under the aurora, feeling the unworldly light of the ionosphere on his face. And a wetness that he wasn’t expecting. _Michael. Michael should be here with him._

Soon he’s hustled back onto the buggy by the other hardy photographers and he swipes at the frozen moisture on his face. The lights are still visible through the windows of the buggy. A reverent silence has fallen on the passengers who half an hour before were talking and joking. Charlie and Dorothy are sitting, arms around each other in awe. The only sounds are gasps and indrawn breaths at the beauty of the celestial display before them.

In another few minutes, the lights dim and dissipate, finally vanishing and leaving only the bright diamonds of the stars, Cassiopeia tipped on her side, looking like she’s about to fall to Earth. Cas feels sated, like he’s tasted a dish he’d dreamed of eating for years, but already he wants more.

The guide announces that that’s probably it for the lights tonight, and the buggy is heading back to town. They should all be back home before the clock strikes midnight and the ball drops. Conversations start up again as everyone can’t help but talk about how beautiful the lights were. Cas sits quietly next to Charlie and Dorothy and replays the dance of the aurora in his mind. Making this trip was the right decision. 

Back at the tundra buggy headquarters, Cas stops to say goodbye to his new friends They’re staying at the hotel just a block away, so Cas walks them home through the frozen stillness, not quite ready to say goodnight. They wish each other Happy New Year before Cas heads over towards the street where his Airbnb is. He’s ready for some hot chocolate, or maybe some wine. He wraps his scarf more tightly around his neck and sets off for his temporary home.


	3. Chapter 3

He must have gotten turned around after leaving Charlie and Dorothy’s hotel. Cas thought the Airbnb was down this way. The crunch of snow under his boots is the only sound in the still night, the cold on his face is burning. He walks along another residential street that isn’t his, golden light hemmed in by curtained windows of the houses he passes, looking cozy and warm. Cas wishes he were cozy and warm in his rented house. If only he could find it. There’s no way he can work the GPS on his phone in his heavy gloves (if he even has service here) and it’s way too cold to take them off. He’s sure he’s in the right neighbourhood, Churchill isn’t that big, he’ll just walk a little further and see if anything looks familiar.

A series of sharp bangs sounds from somewhere behind him along with some indistinct yelling. Fireworks? He turns and scans the sky, but it’s empty of lights now the aurora’s gone. A fine veil of clouds has come in and the stars are obscured. Someone’s hunting, maybe? It’s a strange time of night for it. The sounds aren’t repeated, so he turns back and starts walking along the road again.

The quiet of the night is broken by the sound of someone (something?) shuffling through the snow behind him, and then a soft whuffing grunt. _What the hell?_

Cas turns around to see a polar bear, an honest-to-god _polar bear_ , standing on all fours a ways down the road, head up, scenting the air. _Scenting him_. In retrospect, Cas is amazed that his first reaction is wonder. It’s beautiful, its ivory coat shining in the street light, its dark eyes and nose a striking contrast. 

And then it moves. _Holy shit. A polar bear._ It’s fucking huge. Cas is frozen in place. The bear lifts one dinner-plate-sized paw and brings it down, one step closer to Cas than it was a second ago. The wind has shifted—Cas must be downwind now because he can smell the bear, a heavy, gamy, rank smell. _Okay this is how he dies._ Hysteria bubbles up in his chest and for some reason, he passes his last few seconds on Earth not running for his life, but imagining the headlines; ‘Tourist eaten by polar bear.’ Adrenaline is pumping through him so hard he feels like his chest is going to explode.

A noise penetrates his panic bubble: someone is calling to him urgently. He realizes that the voice has been there in his ears for a bit, but he has pretty much ignored it as all his higher cerebral functions have been busy with _Oh shit that’s a motherfucking polar bear_. He snaps out of it when he feels someone grab his sleeve. 

“Come _ON!_ ” The man is yelling at him, his breath fogging the air in front of him. Cas turns as the man tugs him along the road to the walkway of the nearest house. Cas can’t help but look behind him. The bear is moving towards them in a shambling walk that looks like it could break into a run any second now. Cas wonders if he’s actually going to crap his pants before they reach the door that’s still standing open. The man, who isn’t wearing a coat, just jeans and a henley and slippers, pulls him bodily up the porch steps and into the house, as the bear reaches the walkway. The door slams shut, and Cas lets out a breath that he definitely knew he was holding.

“Oh my _god_. That was a polar bear,” Cas says.

“What the hell do you think you were doing walking around in the dark? Didn't you hear the bear bangers?” the man demands angrily. He’s breathing heavily.

“The what?” says Cas, mystified.

“Bear bangers. Loud bangs, like gunshots.”

“I thought they were fireworks. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

The man rolls his eyes. “God save me from fucking tourists. No, they’re to scare the bears away. Dude, that was way too close for comfort. You don’t fool around with bears. They’re apex predators. He would have tried to eat you.” The man moves to the living room window and looks out at the street.“Well, he’s moved on. Hopefully he’s headed out of town.”

Cas giggles unexpectedly, it’s a nervous reaction he has no control over.

The man turns to look at him, his face serious. “It’s not funny. There was an Inuit hunter killed by a polar bear just last month. I really wasn’t planning on going outside with just my slippers on, but I couldn’t let an idiot tourist get eaten right in front of my house.” He shivers, picking up the plaid flannel shirt hanging over the back of the easy chair and shrugging it on.

“I’m sorry.” Cas is contrite. “I didn’t hear the bear until the last minute. I wasn’t expecting to see a bear on the street. I’m here to see the northern lights. I didn’t come here to see the bears. I didn’t mean for you to come out in your slippers to save me. Thank you, by the way, I was pretty much too scared to move.”

The man looks mollified. “Here, take your coat off and sit down. You’re here for a while. I have to call the bear patrol. They don’t usually stop the alert for an hour or two until they’re sure they’ve chased the bear out of town.” The man takes a cellphone out of his pocket and dials quickly. “Hey Bob, it’s Dean. Yeah, a big male just went by the house, heading north. They’re already on it? Cool. Alright, thanks. Yeah, you too. Bye.”

He turns to Cas. “The patrol’s already alerted. They’ll chase him out of town or he’ll go to bear jail for the night.”

Cas takes off his hat and mitts, and puts them down with his coat and his camera, looking around the room. It’s homey and warm. Heat is pumping out of a woodstove in the corner. Bookcases cover one wall, filled with books and dvds. A large tv sits across from a well-worn green and rust plaid-upholstered couch, a knitted afghan thrown over the back. On the coffee table are a plate with a couple of different types of cheese, a box of crackers, a beer, and the remote for the tv that’s showing the frozen image of men on horseback fording a stream.

Cas stops and really looks at his saviour for the first time. What are the odds? It’s the guy from the airport, the one who had managed to knock all thoughts of Michael out of his head. And he’s even more attractive than he’d seemed in the store on the airport concourse. He’s about forty, light brown hair, green eyes with laugh lines radiating from them, and the merest suggestion of a beard gracing a chiseled jawline. Cas tries not to stare.

“I’m Dean”, he says, holding out a hand for Cas to shake. “Your host for the next few hours.” 

“I’m Cas. Idiot tourist. Bear dinner. Whatever.” 

Dean smiles at that and immediately seems a lot less intimidating. “Want a beer? It’s not much of a New Year’s Eve party, but I have beer and cheese, and Deadwood on dvd. And whiskey.”

“Yes please,” Cas says. He sits down on one end of the plaid couch. The adrenaline is leaving now and he’s shaking despite the warm room. Dean returns from the kitchen carrying a whiskey bottle, a couple of shot glasses, and a bottle of beer, which he hands to Cas. Cas feels the need to explain himself. He’s still a bit weak with relief at being indoors and safe, and that starts him rambling.

“I was out on an aurora tour tonight, taking pictures. I know that people go out on the ice in the tundra buggies to see the polar bears so I figured the bears stayed out there. In nature. On the ice. Away from town. And that’s why people have to drive out to see them.”

Dean laughs. “And you didn’t think that they might want to wander into town to look for food?” 

“No,” Cas says, “that didn’t occur to me. I thought they’d be afraid of people and snowmobiles and cars.”

“They’re not afraid of anything.”

Cas sips his beer and shakes and tries not to think of how close he came to being a late-night snack for the bear.

“Is there anyone you should call to let them know where you are and that you’re okay?” Dean asks.

“No, I’m here in Churchill alone.”

“So, you really are a tourist.”

“An _idiot tourist_ ,” Cas corrects, and Dean grins. “I teach at the University of Toronto. We’ve…” he stops here, and visibly recalibrates as he pushes Michael out of his thoughts, “I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights, so here I am. Looks like i’m going to have a more exciting story to tell when I get back than I thought I was going to.” He smiles, thinking of Meg’s reaction. “Christmas break seemed like a good time to finally cross it off my bucket list before I go back to the States.”

“You’re not from Toronto?” Dean asks, leaning forward to pour them each a shot of whiskey. Leaning forward stretches the soft fabric of Dean’s shirt across his chest. It’s a very enticing view. Dean catches him looking and hides a smile.

“No, I’m from Kansas. I live in Lawrence. I’m just in Toronto til May,” Cas says.

“Huh”, Dean pushes the sleeves of his shirt up in the warmth of the living room and takes another sip of his beer. Cas can’t help but admire his tanned forearms. “Small world, I’m from Tulsa.” He toasts Cas with the shot glass and they both drink. 

Cas finds himself sinking into the couch. The heat from the fire and the whiskey blazing its way down Cas’s throat are relaxing him, as is the aftermath of his adrenaline spike.

“Really? What are you doing up in Churchill?” Cas asks.

“Eh, working.”

The short answer prompts Cas not to dig further. It’s really none of his business. They’ve only been thrown together due to Cas’s stupidity and Dean’s quick thinking. He relaxes against the cushions and Dean starts the dvd up, and they drink in companionable silence as the cowboys head into town. They’re just two strangers forced to spend some time together, Cas thinks. That’s all this is. Despite the warm glow he’s feeling from sitting so close to Dean, that’s all this is.

Cas keeps stealing looks at Dean. His face is flushed and his teeth are white against his skin when he smiles at something on the television. He picks up his beer bottle and cradles it in his hands. His strong, capable hands. Cas shakes his head to get that thought out of there quick. Dean looks up and catches Cas staring.

“Time for another shot,” Dean says, and pours them each another one. Dean hands the shot glass to Cas. He looks speculatively at Cas, who has leaned forward to take the offered drink. Is it his imagination, or were Dean’s eyes lingering on his mouth? Dean is definitely staring at Cas now, green eyes intense. Cas tips back his head, and swallows the whiskey. 

Dean tears his eyes away from Cas and checks his watch. “Hey, it’s nearly midnight.’ He grabs the remote and soon Times Square is on the large television, Christina Aguilera belting out something at top volume while prancing around in what looks like very weather-impractical sequins.

Cas is feeling warm and a weird combo of content and aroused, thanks to the bear, the booze, and the proximity to his host. He scoots a bit closer to Dean under the pretext of picking up a cracker and some cheese. Dean’s grin indicates that he’s seen through the subterfuge. Cas smiles as innocently as he can and leans back, their thighs are touching now. And Dean’s not pulling away. Cas smiles to himself.

This reminds him of being sixteen and the excruciatingly slow pace of actually putting his arm around Anna Milton at the movies. Back when he had tried talking himself into thinking girls were his thing. She had finally gotten tired of him inching his arm along the back of the seat and grabbed it to put around her shoulders. 

Christina is gone from the tv now, and the feed is coming in from the L.A. stage.

“All right, Weezer!” Dean says. They reach for a cracker at the same time and their hands brush. Cas can feel an electric tingle where their hands touched. He wants to feel it again.

Dean stands up abruptly, “Want another beer?”

“Sure, thanks.” 

Dean grabs the empties off the table and returns from the kitchen with two bottles. This time, there’s no hesitation or pretending. He sits down right next to Cas, right in his space. His body is radiating warmth, and Cas takes the proffered bottle without moving his eyes from Dean’s face. Dean licks his lips and Cas leans in slowly for a kiss, mesmerized by Dean’s green gaze and…

“Hey.”

Cas springs back in alarm, apologies at misreading the situation already on his lips.

Dean smiles,“No, it’s okay. It’s just not midnight yet. Wait a minute.”

“Wow, a traditionalist,” Cas rolls his eyes but smiles at Dean. Dean’s lips are so close.

What is he even doing? He doesn’t know this man. All he knows is that he’s beautiful and sexy and nothing at all like Michael. _Michael_. The thought of his old lover is like a glass of cold water poured over him. Dean must see something in his face, because he pulls back.

On the tv the crowd is chanting 17, 16, 15…

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is hesitant. “If you don’t want to…”

9, 8, 7...

 _Fuck Michael_. Cas makes up his mind. By 4 he has his hands on Dean’s shoulders, by 3 he’s pulling him close, by 2 he’s tilting his head, and as the ball comes to the bottom of its descent, he kisses Dean amidst the shouts of Happy New Year on the television.

It’s a light kiss at first, but Dean leans into it, lips parting and hands reaching up to cup Cas’s face. Cas loses himself in sensation, Dean’s lips moving over his, Dean’s tongue exploring his mouth.

Ticker tape is filling the Times Square sky on the television, and outside the house small explosions can be heard in the distance.

Cas comes up for air. “More bear bangers?” 

“Nah, I think those are fireworks.” Dean pulls him down again and says, “think we’re working on some fireworks of our own.” 

Cas laughs at that. “That is a super cheesy line.’

Dean’s grin is wicked. “But is it working?”

“Yeah it is.”

Dean gives him a cocky I-rest-my-case grin and kisses him again, his hands working their way under the hem of Cas’s tee shirt, and that touch of warm hands on his skin for the first time in months nearly derails his thought processes. Dean shifts so that Cas is lying next to him , caught between Dean’s body and the back of the couch. He lies there enjoying Dean’s slow sensuous explorations. Dean kisses him deeply as his fingers trace circles on Cas’s stomach, just shy of tickling but leaving tingling paths in their wake. 

The fear and adrenaline of the day are a fading memory now. He’s alive. He’s safe and warm and making out with the most attractive man he’s seen in a long time. Dean groans and slides his hands farther up under Cas’s shirt.

“What do you want, Cas?” Dean whispers into the little bit of space between them. Cas doesn’t answer, but he slowly pushes up Dean’s shirt, exposing more of his body. Dean obediently lifts his arms, allowing Cas to pull it off completely. It’s thrown to the floor and then Cas’s hands are on Dean, his turn to explore. He reaches down again, sealing their lips together. This kiss is deeper, more claiming, Cas’s tongue plundering Dean’s mouth, his need all-consuming now that it’s been ignited. He rolls over on top of Dean and his hands move to Dean’s waist, then sliding lower, feeling the sharp jut of his hip bones as he grinds against Dean. He can feel the proof of Dean’s arousal, hard beneath the denim of his jeans, pressing into his hip and he shifts slightly, rocking forward causing his own erection to slide deliciously along Dean’s. He breaks their kiss with a groan, hips still rocking into Dean’s.

“Bedroom. Now.” Dean’s voice is a low growl. Cas is swept along on an wave of lust as Dean tugs him up off the couch and leads him down the hallway to the bedroom. He’s not thinking, just feeling, letting sensations overwhelm him. Dean’s skin under his hands, Dean’s hands on his body. They’re on the bed, Dean undoing Cas’s jeans, yanking them and his long johns off at the same time. And then they’re naked. Cas feels lightheaded at the sensation of all that skin pressed against him, Dean’s hands wandering, caressing, Dean’s mouth at his neck.

And suddenly it all feels wrong. Cas feels briefly faint. He shakes his head to dislodge intrusive thoughts of Michael.

“What's wrong?” In Dean’s voice, concern is winning out over passion. “Do you want to stop?”

“No. I’m fine. It’s okay.” And it is. He reaches for Dean again, anchoring himself with the hard press of Dean’s body against his. He kisses Dean hard, showing him how much he wants him. 

He’s moving down Dean’s body deliberately slowly, licking over his collarbone, using his tongue to circle his nipple. Dean moans as Cas bites down softly and then soothes it with his tongue. Cas’s lips move lower, sliding over the smooth warm skin of Dean’s stomach, following the trail of golden hairs that lead south from his navel. He grasps Dean’s cock, it’s hot and hard, tip slick and sliding against his palm. He leans down again and licks him, slow and wet.

“Jesus,” Dean says brokenly and Cas can’t wait a moment more to take him into his mouth. He gets his lips wrapped around the tip and slides down maddeningly slowly until the head of Dean’s cock is nudging at the back of his throat. He works the rest with his hand, stroking firmly in time with the motion of his head as he begins to suck. Dean’s hands find Cas’s hair and Cas revels in the feeling of fingers carding through his hair, and tightening as Dean struggles to stay still under Cas’s ministrations. Even though the focus is on Dean and his pleasure, Cas finds himself savoring the experience, almost surprised when Dean chokes out a warning. Cas takes in as much as he can and Dean arches up off the bed, spilling down his throat, before dropping bonelessly back down.

Cas smiles down at Dean and kisses him again, hearing Dean gasp when his hand slides down his back, pressing up and against him with a finger, and Dean rolls away, fumbling at the drawer in the bedside table. He tosses a condom and a bottle of lube on the bed. Cas slicks up a finger and presses slowly into him. Dean tenses up slightly, his breathing coming heavy now, and Cas stops, waiting for him to relax. When Dean begins to rock his hips slightly, chasing Cas’s finger as it slides in and out, Cas adds a second finger. Before long, Dean is writhing and moaning on the bed, and Cas rolls the condom on, slicks himself up, and then he’s pushing in, slowly, until his hips are flush against Dean. The feeling is overwhelming and Cas waits a moment, trying to get his breathing under control. Dean starts rolling his hips and pulls him down for a kiss and Cas goes willingly, focusing on the sensation of having his tongue and his cock buried in Dean. Slowly he begins to rock into Dean, building into a rhythm punctuated by Dean’s moans and whispered curses. Cas feels like he’s flying, he snaps his hips harder, chasing his orgasm and Dean gasps, hissing out a breath through his teeth every time Cas bottoms out. And then Cas thrusts deep and stills, his orgasm washing over him. Cas collapses on top of him and lies still for a long moment, Dean kissing his neck drowsily. 

“Wow, Happy New Year,” Dean says, and Cas laughs and rolls off him, grabbing Dean’s tee shirt to clean them both up.

“I bet it’s safe for me to be going now, they’ve probably chased the bear out of town.” Cas’s voice makes it a question.

“Oh, no way,” Dean says, pulling Cas close and pulling the comforter up over them both, “it’s still much too dangerous out there.” He tries to keep a straight face and fails. “I really can’t let you leave until morning.” Cas’s eyes are heavy, and he kisses Dean lightly in response, and that’s the last thing he remembers before sleep claims him.


	4. Chapter 4

The chiming of Cas’s phone wakes him. He lies still for a moment, revelling in comfort. He’s warm, even though he’s not wearing any clothes, and someone’s pressed up against his left side, snoring softly. He lies there for a moment longer, letting this all sink through the sleepy cocoon of wellbeing he’s currently inhabiting. _Michael? Is Michael back?_ Cas’s heart does some strange gymnastics. But no, this isn’t their bedroom in Lawrence. This body doesn’t smell like Michael, these snores don’t sound like Michael.

In a moment, all the sleepy happiness flees and Cas is wide awake. He reaches over to the bed-side table and retrieves his phone. It’s a text from Meg. _Happy New Year!!!!_ The message is accompanied by a string of emojis and a photo of a very pissed off Spock wearing a party hat. 

The lump under the covers next to him moves, disturbed by his reaching for his phone.

“Good morning.” Dean’s voice is sleep-rough and self-satisfied. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Cas says, “it’s fine”, but instead of putting the phone down and snuggling back under the covers, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and heads for the bathroom. Mornings after suck. There’s nothing quite as awkward as facing someone in the cold light of day. Someone whose tongue you’ve had down your throat (and a few other places, a snarky part of him chimes in) during an alcohol-fueled passion. Memories from the night before come back unbidden when he’s in the shower. Looking in the bathroom mirror, he can see himself blush. And what’s that on his neck? A hickey. Great. He realizes he can’t hide in the bathroom forever and finally comes out. 

The bed is empty and he can hear Dean rattling around in the kitchen. Wrapped in a towel, Cas hunts around the bedroom for his clothes, making sure he's completely dressed before feeling brave enough to go into the kitchen and face Dean. Dean’s leaning against the counter, clad in a pair of faded plaid sleep pants, watching the coffee maker drip into the carafe. The machine makes a small explosion of steam and Dean starts pouring coffee into a couple of mugs sitting on the counter. 

“Hi,” Cas says. _Great opening line, genius_. Dean looks over at him, smiling.

“Here.” He hands Cas one of the mugs. “Cream’s in the fridge. I hope you don’t take sugar, because I’m out.”

“Cream is fine.” He opens the fridge and adds some to his mug, sipping at it hesitantly. Dean is content to stand there without speaking, waiting patiently for Cas to pull himself together.

The sun, newly risen despite it being almost 9:30 in the morning, is casting a warm pool of light on the white-tiled floor and Cas is surprised how domestic and tranquil it feels being here in this kitchen. There are photos stuck to the fridge with magnets, Dean and a taller man with longish brown hair proudly holding up fish on the shore of some lake in one picture and sitting on the hood of a big black car in another. A spider plant hangs over the sink and there’s a collection of cereal boxes on the counter like a line of books. Cas decides to just drink his coffee in the moment and postpone all the _well, I better be going, thanks for last night_ stuff for just a little while longer. Along with the _I slept with someone who isn’t Michael_ internal freakout that he’s sure is just over the horizon.

Dean yawns and stretches, and Cas has to struggle to pull his eyes away from the hard lines of his chest. He’s so busy staring that when he lifts his mug to take a sip, he mostly misses his mouth and coffee drips down his shirt. He curses.

Dean hands him a paper towel while trying not to laugh. “The first time I came to Churchill, it was a couple of summers ago and I was camping out south of town. A friend of mine, Benny, was up visiting and came with me.” Dean stops speaking and smiles at the memory. “I think it was the first time he’d been out of Louisiana, and watching him cope with the blackflies and deer flies was pretty funny. They weren’t really even that bad, but Benny had one of those hats with netting on it that you tie around your neck to keep the flies out of your face. Kind of like a beekeeper’s hat, but even that wasn’t good enough for him. He soaked the hat and the netting with bug spray.” Dean smiles at the memory and takes another sip of coffee. “The thing is, he got so used to wearing it that after a while he didn’t even see the netting anymore. We were sitting around after lunch, and he poured himself a mug of coffee we’d made on the fire. And before I could say anything, he took a big swig of coffee. _Through_ the mosquito netting. Got a big mouthful of DEET in his coffee. Spat it out kinda like you did just then.”

Cas looks down, embarrassed. Dean laughs and leans forward to press a kiss to Cas’s lips. “Hey, it’s flattering that you find me that distracting. I’m gonna go shower, and then if you want, I can take you out for breakfast and show you the sights of Churchill?” He’s smiling hopefully and Cas is smitten. 

Cas nods and Dean’s whistling _Rebel Rebel_ as he goes down the hall to the bathroom.

Cas refills his mug as the shower starts up. He stretches and sits down on the couch that was the starting point for last night’s activities. And that starts him thinking, which turns out to be a really, really bad idea.

 _What was he thinking? Why did he do this? He’s nowhere near over Michael. He’s still an emotional mess, why on God’s earth did he jump into bed with a stranger? He has nothing to offer, he couldn’t keep Michael. Dean seems like good guy. He doesn’t need to be subjected to all Cas’s fucked-up shit._

And here it is. The freakout. Right on schedule. Cas’s stomach turns sour. He can’t do this. He can’t face Dean or go out for breakfast. He needs to get out of here. He fumbles through a few drawers in the kitchen before coming up with a pen and a pad of paper.

He leaves a note on the counter. _I’m sorry. Thank you._ He’d tried to write more, but gave up and scribbled it out.

He puts on his coat and quietly lets himself out of the house while the shower’s still running. Hurrying along the road back the way he’d come the night before, he can see the outlines of the bear’s footprints in the well-trodden snow, the deep indents from its claws. He shivers at the thought of what those paws could have done to him, and picks up his pace, almost jogging as he moves away from Dean’s house as if he can outpace his anxiety.

_“Cas, I never wanted to hurt you, but I can’t do this anymore.” The words are a knife through Cas’s heart. Michael’s been talking for a while now, but Cas can’t understand what he’s saying, the words are not making sense. Only the heavy beating of his heart already understands, tethering him to his body when the unreality of the situation starts to get the best of him._

_“Michael,” Cas reaches for him, his brain feverishly searching for something to refute Michael’s arguments, to find the words that’ll put that genie back in the bottle, to make Michael realize it’s all a mistake, that he really doesn’t want to leave Cas, that Cas can be better, can be who Michael wants, but Michael moves back out of reach._

_“I’ll text you when I’m going come and pick up the rest of my things, so you can be out of the apartment.”_

_It’s only when the door clicks closed behind Michael that Cas sinks to the floor of the kitchen and the tears come._

Shaking and nauseated, Cas ends up back at Charlie and Dorothy’s hotel, which, praise be, has working wifi. He’s sitting in the lobby using Google Maps to find his Airbnb when a familiar voice calls his name excitedly. He looks up to see Charlie standing there with a coffee and her coat slung over her arm.

“Hi, Charlie,” he says, when it becomes obvious that he’s not going to be able to avoid her in the small lobby.

“Cas! Are you going on the polar bear tour?” she asks. “Dorothy and I are going out on the tundra buggy again.”

“Uh, no. I’ve had enough polar bears to last me a lifetime already.” Dorothy joins them at that point and it distracts Charlie for a moment before she asks what he means by that.

Cas swallows down the nausea and recounts the story of the previous night, leaving out the sex and making it sound like an entirely G-rated evening of television viewing with a stranger. The women are suitably horrified by his being stalked by a bear, but something in his carefully modulated voice must give something away, because Charlie’s questions about his saviour are getting more pointed by the time their tour guide comes into the lobby to collect his passengers. Cas hugs them goodbye and heads off in the right direction to his rental. 

He lets himself in and makes a pot of coffee and scrounges breakfast. He’s got a couple of hours to kill before the afternoon of dog sledding he’s signed up for. For a few tranquil moments in Dean’s kitchen, he was happily planning to bail on those plans and spend more time with Dean, but since his freakout cut that short, he might as well honour his commitment.

If only Meg could see him now, Cas thinks as the sled races down the trail between the spindly spruce trees, the dogs running tirelessly and course-correcting at the commands of the musher, Josie, who’s standing behind Cas on the runners of the sled. One of the lead dogs barks, and it sets of a chorus amongst her teammates as the sled flies over the snow, the sun bright in the deep blue sky, but already sinking towards the horizon even though it’s early afternoon. 

He’d met the dogs before they’d been harnessed to the sled, as he stood around drinking hot chocolate and eating bannock while the other visitors had taken turns being helped into the sleds, enjoying the tasty fry bread. His dogs, all of them huskies, are running full out. The lead dog, Rosie, is harnessed to Edgar, her son. And behind them Theo, Luke, Leia, Solo, Chunk, and Jett make up the rest of the team. Shadows from the trees flicker across Cas as the sled careens down the trail and he feels like he’s flying. It’s incredible. It would be nice to share this experience with someone, to have someone else on the sled, sitting between his legs, with their back warm against his chest. Cas is surprised that the first person he thinks of isn’t Michael, but Dean. Quickly, he redirects his thoughts, before the sadness and nausea can return.

After thanking Josie for the ride he takes a shuttle back to town with some of the other visitors and ends up back at the Airbnb. He’s booked for a second aurora buggy trip that evening, and he dutifully gathers his camera and outerwear and heads back to the tundra buggy headquarters. Charlie and Dorothy aren’t on this tour, and Cas doesn’t know whether he’s sad not to see his new friends again, or relieved that he doesn’t have to make small talk. 

He still feels emotionally raw and confused at how quickly he took advantage of his attraction to Dean. And the sex had been, well, more than he expected from a one night stand. It’d been hot, sure, but it had been affectionate too. It was altogether less cursory, less orgasm-as-goal-driven than it had any right to be. For sure, Cas had been coming down from an adrenaline spike, and well-marinated in beer and whiskey, but it had seemed joyful somehow. More than just relief at being alive, there had been true enjoyment of each other's company. 

He gets out of the buggy when they reach their destination and photographs the aurora, but the magic seems dimmed this time. His inner turmoil is taking away from his ability to appreciate the light show. And when he’s back in his bed, it’s not the northern lights he’s thinking of, but Dean.

The trip home the next day is a complete mess. A bumpy flight from Churchill to Winnipeg where engine problems with the plane delay his flight back to Toronto by three hours. It’s late when the Uber pulls up in front of the door of his apartment building, and he falls into bed after feeding Spock and texting Meg to let her know he’s home. He’s exhausted, but it takes him a long time to fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Cas is back at work the first Thursday of January. Walking into his office and hanging his coat on the coat rack as usual should signal that things are back to normal. He’s back at his desk, he’s teaching first-years, he’s meeting with the two grad students he’s advising, he’s having coffee with Meg. On the surface things are as they were. But underneath, oh underneath, things are very much Not As They Were. 

Where previously, thoughts of Michael were what distracted him the moment he let his mind wander off the well-traveled tracks of research and teaching, now, unaccountably, it’s Dean. On the streetcar home, on his daily run, and lying in bed at night with only Spock for company, he finds himself replaying that night in Churchill. The feel of Dean’s body on his. The feverish kisses. There’s no off switch, and when he finally falls asleep in the wee hours of the morning, his sleep is thin and fitful and full of half-remembered dreams of loss and sadness that follow him into his mornings like a clinging grey fog.

Meg’s noticed that he’s not himself, and in a case of rare-for-her considerateness, hasn’t asked him what’s wrong. She got the same G-rated explanation of his New Year’s Eve that he’d given to Charlie and Dorothy, and she’d marvelled at his close call with the bear, but as the weeks go by, he can tell she knows something’s off. Hiding something from Meg is a fruitless endeavour, Cas has discovered. She’s like a short, sarcastic Columbo. And like the storied detective, she’s a master of lulling a person into a false sense of security, thinking they’ve answered all her questions, only for her to ‘just one more thing’ them and hit them with a zinger. 

It starts one Tuesday in early February when they’re at lunch together in one of their favourite spots, an old-fashioned basement-level Greek diner on Carleton Street. They’d opened the door in relief, glad to be out of the blowing snow, and stepped down into the warm comforting atmosphere of the restaurant, the smells of bacon and souvlaki thick in the air.

They’re settled in a booth in the far corner of the diner before she makes her first move, Meg eating a chicken parm sandwich and Cas working on a classic breakfast because he figures if you _can_ get an all-day breakfast, why would you not? Meg is dipping her fries in a pool of ketchup on the edge of the plate, not looking at him when she drops the first fish hook into the pool.

“So, I watched _The Revenant_ last night on tv.”

Cas, spreading jam on his toast, says ‘“Oh yeah?”

“The part about the bear attacking the main character reminded me of your trip to Churchill. Leo DiCaprio. Mmmm, that man.” she shakes her head and sighs dramatically, “So good looking.”

Cas waits for her to get to the point, because there’s always a point.

“Was it like that when that guy rescued you? Was he good looking, like Leo in that movie?”

“Well first of all, I haven’t seen the movie, so I couldn’t tell you. And second,” he says, pointing at her with his toast, “I think _I’d_ be Leo in that scenario, seeing as how it was me the bear was after.”

“Ugh, don’t be a downer Cas. You know what I mean. What was he like? Your knight in shining armor?”

_The feel of Dean’s skin under his hands, the way he moaned when Cas pushed his henley up to kiss his chest. The smile in his eyes as he handed Cas a mug of coffee._

“Less shining armor, and more plaid flannel and bluejeans,” he says, trying for flippant. Trying not to get distracted by memories so sharp he can feel them, even after nearly two months.

“Ah,” Meg says, swallowing a bite of her sandwich, “a hipster.”

“No,” Cas scoffs. He looks at her with exasperation. “Do you ever leave the city? People up north dress like that because it’s practical, it’s not an affectation. Besides, I doubt there are any hipsters in Churchill. It’s too small and remote.”

“Pffft. They’re everywhere. I went on a shitty Tinder date once with a guy who looked just like Daniel Radcliffe at a hipster bar in North Bay.” 

“What were you even doing up there? You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” He returns his attention to his eggs. In his peripheral vision, he can see that Meg’s still looking at him, concern replacing the amusement that had been on her face a moment before.

“Cas, cut the crap. I know something’s wrong. It’s been worse since you got back from Churchill. You come in late. You zone out at your desk. I had to remind you twice that the second-year lab was rescheduled. Even when you were at your worst after Michael—”

He looks at her, a warning on his face, stopping her briefly.

“No, don’t look at me like that. I was there when you were putting yourself back together after Michael. You were getting better, and now you’re back to square one again. So I figure it’s another man,” she breaks off as the waiter refills their coffee cups and smiles her thanks.

“The only man you’ve mentioned in the past few months is the guy who saved you from a freaking bear. That’s got to make him memorable, right? And yet you go out of your way not to give any details about what happened that night other than ‘ha ha I spent New Year’s Eve getting chased by a polar bear and had to hang out with the guy who rescued me for a few hours’. That’s not suspicious at all.”

“Overnight,” Cas mutters, knowing it’s all going to come out anyway, and besides, Meg’s his best friend, they talk about personal stuff all the time, she cares about him, if he’s going to actually confide in someone about what a truly impressive mess he is, it’s going to be her.

“Overnight.” Meg echoes, voice filled with satisfaction, giving up on her fries and putting her napkin down on her plate. She settles back against the worn maroon naugahyde of the booth and cocks an eyebrow at Cas. He knows he’s not getting back to the office without telling Meg about it.

“Ugh, okay. It was more than hanging out watching tv. It was what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, you don’t know what I’m thinking, Clarence.” Her smile is back to wicked again, and Cas blushes.

“Yeah I do. And it was...that.”

“So, you slept with someone who wasn’t Michael. That’s progress, Cas! That’s textbook getting over the ex. I’m proud of you.” He looks around, worried that someone could overhear, but it’s past the rush of lunch hour, and the closest tables are empty now. “So, why are you back down in the dumps?”

“I don’t know, Meg. I…” he stutters to a stop.

“Was the sex good at least?” she asks.

“It was. And maybe that’s the problem. It was really good. It was more than one-night-stand good. It was...giving-me-feelings good.” He pushes the last few homefries around his plate moodily.

“Huh. And did he feel the same way about it?” 

“I don’t know. I spent the night, had coffee with him in the morning, and then panicked and snuck out while he was taking a shower.”

“Ugh. Caaaasss.”

“I know, I know. But I freaked out about sleeping with someone else, someone not Michael.”

Meg leans forward to emphasize her point. “You realize you don’t owe it to Michael to stay faithful, don’t you? Cas, he _left_ you. You’re a free agent. You had every right to sleep with Joe Hipster.”

“Dean.”

“You had every right to sleep with Dean Hipster. Or anyone else you want. You. Are. _Single_.”

“That’s just it, Meg. Logically, I know I’m single. Emotionally, I’m still not quite there. And when I gave in to impulse, it just felt so good. Just feeling, and not thinking, but the next morning I felt horrible.” Cas drains the last of his coffee and puts the cup down on the table. “Which had nothing to do with Dean, he was great. It was all me. I just had to get out of there, get away from the situation, so I could figure out how to feel about it.”

“Okay. So is that why you’ve been dragging yourself around work like a kicked puppy? You’re beating yourself up for emotionally cheating on Michael?”

Cas waves off the waiter who’s heading over with the coffee pot. “At first, I thought that was it. But it isn’t. It’s worse. It’s way worse. I don’t think about Michael as much anymore, and it doesn’t hurt as much when I do. But,” he puts his head in his hands, “now I can’t stop thinking about Dean.”

Cas can’t decipher the smile on Meg’s face.

“This is _good_ news, Cas. It means you’re getting over Michael.”

“No, you don’t get it. I was supposed to get over Michael and not get hung up on the very next guy I met. I wasn’t supposed to have feelings. I was supposed to get laid and be happy about it. Instead, I’m miserable, I keep replaying that night over and over in my head. Thinking every tall guy with light brown hair in a crowd is him. ”

“Oh Cas,” she says quietly, all teasing gone. “You fell for him.” The moment the words are out of her mouth, Cas feels the rightness of them. _Oh fuck. He did._

“What kind of loser falls for a one night stand, Meg?” he asks, helplessly.

“Apparently you do, Cas,” Meg says, and takes pity on him by not pressing further, instead patting his hand and then catching the waiter’s eye and asking for the cheque.

The next few weeks are busy, and Cas takes every opportunity to bury himself in his workload. Midterm exams are coming, and he’s been invited to give a presentation on the 3D ore modelling he’s been working on at the annual Prospectors and Developers Association of Canada. The PDAC is one of the largest and most prestigious mining conferences and draws participants and visitors from all over the world. The university, namely Zachariah, is excited about this and his incessant advice and nonstop emails keep Cas busy and his thoughts away from Dean during working hours.

But at night, alone in his apartment, Spock snoozing on the couch beside him, he can’t stop Dean from creeping into his thoughts. He thinks about how Dean’s lips felt on his, the warmth of Dean’s body curled against him when he woke in the morning, Dean handing him a mug of coffee in the sunlit kitchen. Meg’s right. He fell hard. _Fuck his life._

So what’s he going to do about it? Cas enumerates the problems he’s going to have to overcome to talk to Dean again: Dean lives a thousand miles away, he doesn’t have Dean’s phone number or address, he doesn’t even know Dean’s last name or where he works.

This leads him to two epiphanies. 1. Cas sincerely wants to punch anyone who insists that there are no problems, only opportunities. And 2. he’s managed to fall for someone who he has no reasonable expectation of ever finding again. _Genius move._

Slowly he begins to pull himself out of his depression. Meg helps, dragging him out to movies; and Claire, the grad student who’s working with him on the ore models as part of her thesis invites him for dinner with her and and a couple of other grad students, and he has a better time than he expects. Cold, snowy February gives way to grey, damp March. It’s still cold, hovering just around freezing, but most of the snow is gone and Toronto is a city in shades of grey and brown. Cas feels as monochromatic as his surroundings, his nights out with Meg and Claire the only bursts of colour in his life.

He doesn’t stop thinking about Dean, though. His nights are still hard, sleep elusive, and he’s haunted by the sense memories of holding Dean in his arms, but his days are easier as he disciplines himself to pay attention to his work, his friends, his cat. 

The PDAC rolls around, and Cas finishes his presentation, tweaks the PowerPoint slideshow, and chooses some small rock samples to bring along. Meg, once again sitting up on his desk next to where he’s trying to work, suggests he start off his talk with a joke.

“I’ve got a good one. What is a meteorite’s favourite font?”

“I don’t know, Meg.”

“Impact.”

Cas groans. “I’m not using that.”

“Oh come on, it’s funny. Isn’t it funny?” she asks Claire, who’s come to Cas’s office to walk with him to the convention centre where the mining conference is taking place. It’s a nice day, sunny and cool, and Cas wants to spend some time in the fresh air on the half hour walk before giving his talk. Get rid of his jitters.

“Uh, no comment,” Claire says, cracking her gum.

They walk down Beverly Street, past tree-shaded century-old houses of Baldwin Village on the edge of Chinatown, proud dowagers now divided up for student housing for the U of T and the other universities clustered in downtown Toronto. There’s no breeze and the sun feels warm and it actually feels like spring might be on its way. They cut across at Dundas and down McCaul Street past the Ontario College of Art and Design’s flagship building, an architectural marvel—a black-and-white spotted box seemingly floating in the sky over an 1920s red brick building, held up by a dozen multi-coloured legs. Past this, the CN Tower looms large, and Cas thinks this is probably his favourite view in all of Toronto.

They get to the convention centre and part ways. Claire is meeting up with someone in the exhibit room before going to Cas’s talk, and Cas heads off to the room 117 where a poster on an easel says: Advances in Mineral Systems Modelling of Ni-Cu-PGE and Gold. It’s still an hour until his presentation and he sits in a chair at the back of the room making notes as the other speakers present.

All too soon it’s his turn. The presentation goes well, no technical issues with the computer that’s hooked up to the projector, and it’s well received, several people asking questions in the short Q&A that he gets as part of his presentation time. He walks out onto the concourse, still chatting with Claire, who’d made it to the presentation room in time to see him speak, and a mining company geologist from Kirkland Lake called Vicki. She’s asking what he thought about Sirelda’s 2017 paper, but Cas has stopped hearing her voice or even seeing her. The busy concourse with its milling crowds has faded away to become a silent, shadowy background for only one person. 

_Dean._

_No, it can’t be real._

But it is. He’s clad in a grey suit, and clean shaven, a lanyard with the conference ID hanging around his neck. He’s heading from the concourse into the giant exhibit room where all the mining companies and mining equipment companies have their booths. The room seems to spin around Cas. Making some kind of excuse, he extricates himself from Claire and Vicki and nearly sprints across to where he saw Dean just a few moments before. But the room is huge, and a lot of the (mostly) men standing around booths and walking in the aisles are wearing grey suits. Cas casts around looking everywhere. The hum of conversation in the room is affecting his concentration as he darts down one of the aisles, head swivelling as he looks for Dean. A colleague he recognizes from a conference a year or so previously, a base metals guy from the University of Colorado, standing in front of a diamond-drilling company booth catches his eye and heads his way, already smiling, but Cas points to his watch and mouths sorry as he hurries past.

Cas spends the next twenty minutes crossing the room, going up and down the aisles looking for Dean, but he’s nowhere to be found. He nearly accosts a man who looks like Dean from the back, almost grabbing his arm, before realizing it’s not him. It’s no use. Dean’s gone. Dejected, Cas makes his way out the double doors and back onto the convention centre concourse. There are two more days left of the conference. If he haunts the convention centre, he has a chance of seeing Dean again. Apologizing for leaving. Maybe see if Dean feels anything like the way he does. 

_Christ, he needs a drink_. There’s a bar on the first floor of the convention centre and there’s an informal lounge being run in the main entryway hall bankrolled by a big gold-mining company. Cas makes his way to the latter, buys a beer and sits down heavily on one of the easy chairs scattered in groups across the carpeted floor.

He’s just taken a swig of beer, eyes down on his phone, checking his texts, when he hears a familiar voice, incredulous and questioning.

“Cas?”

He looks up, and time stops. At least it stops for the microsecond it takes Cas to realize it’s Dean who’s standing in front of his chair. He tries to take a breath, breathes in the mouthful of beer instead, and promptly begins to choke and cough the beer all down the front of his shirt.

“Seriously, you have a lot of trouble drinking don’t you? I really should introduce you to Benny.” Dean’s voice is still deep and still does things to Cas, but it has a distinctly amused tone.

“Dean,” Cas struggles to stop coughing, grabbing the cocktail napkin he’d been given with his beer and cleaning up as best he can. “What are you doing here?” It comes out weird and accusing and Cas wishes he could take it back or at least change the tone.

“Same thing you are. Attending the conference. I didn’t know you were in the business,” Dean says.

“Well, we didn’t talk much that night.” Dean’s eyebrows raise at that, and Cas hurries to add, “about our jobs, or even our last names.” It’s hard not to be flustered when Dean’s standing right there in front of him. Dangerously handsome in his suit, so different from the man in (and out of) faded jeans and flannel, and yet just the same. Cas gestures to the chair next to him and Dean sits down, putting his conference tote down on the floor. Cas can’t read his expression, which has shifted to something bland and neutral

“I work for Barrick Gold, I’m a geologist at the Muskox mine right outside of Churchill. You?”

“I’m teaching mineralogy at U of T and working on ore systems modelling, specifically the Detour Lake gold camp. I gave a talk on it earlier in the Advances in Systems Modelling session.”

“Wait, you’re Castiel Novak? I missed your talk ‘cause I had a meeting, but I saw some of the other presenters in that session. Huh, small world.” So Dean had been in the lecture room while Cas had been chasing all through the exhibition booths looking for him.

There’s an announcement over the PA that another technical session is starting, and people get up from the seating arrangements, leaving glasses and bottles scattered on the small tables. There’s no one sitting near them now.

It suddenly gets awkward. Neither of them are speaking, Cas hazards another swig from his bottle and sighs. “I’m sorry about how I acted. I’m sorry I ran away. It wasn’t anything you did. I was getting over Michael, a long-term relationship, and you were the first person I had...got close to since we broke up. I didn’t know how to handle that so I panicked and I ran. Like a coward.”

Dean looks up from where he was peeling the label of his own beer. “I thought it was something like that. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt though, when I came out of the shower and found your note.” His voice is serious now.

“I know. I’ve regretted it ever since it happened,” Cas says.

_Tell him, tell him that it meant something to you. Tell him how you feel._

Cas opens his mouth, but what comes out is something entirely different from what he’d planned to say, cowardice winning over the impulse to be truthful. “Were you planning on seeing my talk? Did you really want to see the models?” A look Cas can’t identify passes over Dean’s face at the abrupt change in subject. He looks down at his beer and then up at Cas, taking a moment before replying.

“Yeah, I’m beginning to suspect that the mineralization type at Muskox is similar to Detour Lake, I wanted to see the models. You were using cesium magnetometers to get the mag data right?” Dean asks, playing along with Cas’s abrupt change in topic..

“Yeah,” Cas rushes on, not wanting to leave a lull in the conversation that might lead to having to discuss feelings. “I just have PowerPoint slides with me, but if you want, we could go to my office and I can show you the actual models.” He stops for a second, _is that too much like ‘wanna get out of here, go back to my place’? Well, too late to worry about that now._ He soldiers on, “That’s better because I can tweak the parameters and you can see how that changes the model in three dimensions.” 

“I’d like that.” Dean’s expression is hard to read, but he gets to his feet and bends over to pick up his tote. He’s close enough that Cas can smell his aftershave, something with cedar and mint. He wants to reach out and touch Dean, looking unfamiliar in his tailored suit, and relearn the body underneath—the same one he stripped of flannel on the couch in Churchill. Cas shakes his head. _Down boy._

They hail a cab and head back to the university. Sitting in the back of the cab is heaven and hell. It’s a small car, so they’re nearly touching, and Cas has to remind himself to keep his mind on work. It seems like Dean’s forgiven him for running off, or is at least willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but his interest now seems to be in Cas’s work, not Cas’s body. And that’s Cas’s fault. The urge to touch Dean wars with his tactic of using shop talk to keep him at a distance. Cas has no idea what he’s doing. He’s in so far over his head. 

Dean pays for the cab over Cas’s protests, “Expense account.” They are deep in discussion about the ore models while they climb the stairs to the second-floor hallway where Cas’s office is. Cas is just unlocking his door when Meg comes out of the photocopier room a couple of doors down, a stack of paper in her arms.

“I was hoping you’d come back here before going home,” she’s talking to Cas, but her eyes are roaming all over Dean. “Zachariah’s on the warpath about the itinerary for the second-year field trip, and he wants to know how the presentation went.” She looks pointedly at Cas. He takes the hint.

“Dean, this is my friend, Meg Masters. Meg this is Dean…”

“Winchester,” Dean finishes. Meg’s eyebrows nearly disappear into her hair.

“Dean,” she says, extending her hand for him to shake, “it’s so _lovely_ to meet you.” There’s a wealth of meaning in those few words. Cas knows he’s in for the third degree when she gets him alone, but she’s smiling with genuine friendliness at Dean. She makes her excuses and heads back to her office. 

_Incoming text in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1_ , thinks Cas. And sure enough, he can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. He ignores it and ushers Dean into his office. He pulls the guest chair around the desk next to his, and starts the computer up. He pulls up the model of the Detour Lake gold mine, and rotates it to show the mine and the mineralization from all angles.

“New findings at depth meant we had to re-evaluate the model. Now we think the deposit is related to a steeply-dipping intrusion. We used structural field interpolations to create a model of the different foliation generations using historical structural data.” Cas hits a few keys and the three-dimensional shape of the model changes. “The predictive model pointed to a high mineral-potential zone near the contact between two foliation planes.”

“Was it confirmed?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, they found a new mineralization intercept almost 200 meters below the mine infrastructure,” Cas says, pointing to one of the drill holes on the model. He trails off when he realizes that Dean is staring at him and not the computer screen.

Dean leans back in his chair, perhaps to give Cas some distance between them. “You know it really did hurt when I found your note.” 

_Oh okay, they’re going to talk about this then._ At least they’re on his ground, in his office. Hopefully that’ll make this easier.

Dean laughs a little bitterly, “I don’t know what I expected. I just enjoyed your company the night before and I thought you did too. I wanted to get to know you better. That, uh,” he looks down, “that didn’t just feel like a one-night stand. I was really happy the next morning, thinking about spending the day with you. Taking you for breakfast, maybe out snowmobiling. And then I came out of the shower and you were gone.”

Cas is very aware of Dean sitting so close next to him and the heat coming from Dean’s body. He looks away from the computer screen and makes himself meet Dean’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. I really am,” Cas says, again. “I panicked. And trust me, I’ve been beating myself up about it ever since. You didn’t deserve me and my ex issues bailing on you like that. I’ve been wishing there was a way to get in touch with you, but I left without even finding out your last name. And then there you were. At the convention. And apparently my brain stopped working.”

Dean waggles his eyebrows. “Probably because you were remembering the amazing sex,” he teases.

“The sex,” Cas stops and sighs. “That’s the problem. The sex wasn’t what I expected.” Dean goes very still at that, and Cas hurries on. “It wasn’t as,” he hunts around for the right word, “superficial as I was expecting.”

“Huh, so you felt it too,” Dean says, relaxing back into his seat. “At the risk of sounding like a chick flick, I felt a connection. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, haven’t really since that night.”

“I did too. Felt a connection. And it scared the crap out of me.”

“And how are you feeling about it now?” Dean’s voice is still light, staying far far away from serious, but no less sincere for it. “Are you still scared?”

Cas knows this is his opening. He briefly wishes he’d shut his office door before reaching for Dean. He’s still got his jacket on, and that gives Cas something to grab hold of. There’s a definite moment of _here goes nothing_ before they’re kissing, and all doubt flees under the dizzying pressure of the kiss. Dean’s lips are warm on his and it feels like all things good. It feels like coming home.

They come up for air a few minutes later, Cas’s fingers are tangled in Dean’s hair. “My god, I thought I’d never see you again.” Cas’s voice is shaky. It’s finally sinking in. Dean is here. Dean wants him.

Dean rests his forehead against Cas’s for a moment, “I missed you too.”

He kisses Cas one last time and then pulls back. “I hate to put a damper on the big reunion. But I did have a couple of beers earlier. Is there a washroom nearby?”

“Yeah,” Cas sits back, “Go along the corridor to the right, through the double doors, to the end of the hallway. Turn left and it’s like the second door on your left.”

“Thanks.” Dean drops a small kiss on Cas’s cheek, “But we’re going to talk some more when I get back.” Cas watches him walk out the door, enjoying the view.

Smiling, Cas turns back to the computer and opens his email. There are four in his Inbox from Zachariah. Cas rolls his eyes. As if he’s conjured him, he hears Zachariah’s voice floating into his office, speaking loudly to someone as he climbs the stairs.

“His office is just along here, right next to the stairs.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you showing me the way.”

Cas freezes. The voice is instantly recognizable, the tone warm and silky, the cadence as familiar as his own name.

_Michael._


	6. Chapter 6

_No, it can’t be. Michael is half a continent away. Serenely going on with his life in Lawrence without Cas. Not here. Not in Toronto._ He looks up towards the door, filled with hope or dread, he can’t decide which. This can’t be happening. Not twice in the same day.

Zachariah appears in the doorway. “Dr. Novak. I ran into a friend of yours downstairs and showed him up here. Before you leave, please come to my office, we need to talk about your grad students.” He disappears and then Cas’s stomach drops as a tall man walks into the room.

“Hello, Castiel.” Michael looks unforgivably well, the separation hasn’t been giving him sleepless nights, if looks are anything to go by. His dark hair longer than Cas remembers and he’s wearing a cashmere coat over a tailored navy suit, softened by a pale blue shirt and lavender tie. Elegant as always.

“Michael.” Cas’s voice is not exactly a croak, but something close to it. He stands up. “What are you doing here?”

“Hannah told me where you were, Castiel. When you run away from home, you don’t do things by half, do you?” the tone is amused. Cas’s gaze drags across Michael’s face, once so loved, so longed for, and now? Now he’s confused. Two months ago he’d thought that seeing Michael again would feel good, would make him whole. But all he can muster is a half-hearted irritation. 

“What do you want, Michael?” Cas says, his voice far from welcoming.

Michael walks towards him, “I came to say I’m sorry. I was stupid. I was wrong. I miss you and I want you back.” He doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds like someone mouthing the words to something that’s already a done deal. A mere formality.

 _This really can’t be happening._ And what’s more, he doesn’t feel at all the way he thought he would when this scenario had played out in his mind late at night when he couldn’t sleep. He stands there, frozen to the spot as Michael walks right up and puts his hands on Cas’s shoulders, pulling him in to kiss him.

Cas sways towards him, feels those familiar lips on his, and every instinct he has screams _wrong._ He’s remembering another set of lips, Dean’s lips. Dean’s hands on his body, Dean’s breath hot on his skin. Cas stands frozen as Michael wraps his arms around Cas and tries to pull him close. Then something snaps inside Cas. He gets his hands against Michael’s chest and pushes. Hard. “Michael, stop.”

Michael pulls away, uncertain. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want this.”

“You mean you don’t _want_ me?” His tone is disbelieving.

Cas laughs bitterly, fighting the childish urge to scrub at his lips with the back of his hand. “No. I don’t.” 

“You want to throw away everything we had?” Michael is incredulous, “Everything we spent five years building?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cas is angry now. “You dumped me, Michael. You made up your mind without even consulting me, emptied your stuff out of the apartment and went on to a new life without even worrying about what I wanted.” Michael starts to say something, but Cas carries on without letting him have an opening. “You were right. We don’t belong together. Looking back, it’s obvious now. You always had one foot out the door.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure it is. I talked myself into believing that I could care enough for the both of us. You did me a favor when you left. I was too stupid to realize it at the time. Tell me, were you seeing someone else?”

The fleeting look that passes over Michael’s face tells Cas everything he needs to know.

“You were right to end it, Michael. We don’t belong together anymore. I’m sorry that whoever you left me for isn’t doing for you. But I’m not a consolation prize or your fucking Plan B.” Cas gives full throttle to his anger now that the shock is receding. “You don’t get to just pick back up where you left off after putting me through that. I’m not interested. I’ve found someone else. Enjoy the rest of your stay in Toronto. Goodbye, Michael.” Cas turns his back and sits down at his desk. He’s shaking, more from anger now than from shock. 

“”Cas...” the tone is cajoling, Michael’s specialty, “I love you.”

“I really doubt that. I don’t think you know how. Goodbye, Michael,” Cas repeats, not taking his eyes off the screen. Behind him he hears Michael give an irritated sigh and leave without another word.

Cas sits there for a minute before his eyes fall on the conference tote bag beside the guest chair. _Dean_. Elation fills him. He knows now that Michael is behind him. That he’s really over him. Michael showing up was actually a gift. Now he can explore what he feels for Dean without the weight of wondering what his feelings for Michael are. He can’t wait for Dean to come back. He wants to keep Dean by his side and he's going to start by asking him out for dinner.

Too antsy to keep sitting at his desk, Cas paces to the office window and looks out over the campus. He checks his watch. Dean’s been gone a long time. Even if he’d gotten lost on the way to the washroom, he should have been back by now. Cas goes to the door and looks both ways down the hall. It’s empty. He walks down to the double doors, around the corner, and into the men’s room. Empty. Unease is rising inside him. He retraces his steps, still no Dean.

“Cas!”

He looks up. Meg is sitting at her desk, her office door open. “You’re still here? I saw Dean Hipster heading down the stairs like fifteen minutes ago. I thought you were with him.” She pauses at the look on his face. “Tell me you didn’t fuck this up.”

Fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen. Minutes. Cas thinks back. Fifteen minutes ago was right about the time that Michael first came into his office. Before the argument. When he ambushed Cas with that kiss. _Fuck_. Dean must have come back from the men’s room and seen Michael kissing him. _No. No no no no. ___

“Meg. Oh my god Meg, he must have seen Michael kissing me.”

“Michael? What? Michael is here?” Meg gets up and goes towards the door, anger in every line of her body. 

“No, he was here. He’s gone now,” Cas says.

“What the hell was that dick doing here?”

“He came to tell me he wanted me back.”

“Well, that’s rich. Of course he did. He thinks he can drop you and pick you up whenever he feels like it. That bastard. What did you say?”

“He kissed me and I told him I wasn’t interested. I pushed him away! But Dean must have come back and seen that, misinterpreted it.” Cas runs a hand through his hair, getting more distraught by the minute. “I have got to start closing my office door,” he says, as though that were the issue.

“He did take the stairs pretty quickly when he left. I figured you were both in a hurry to get out of here.” Meg says.

“What am I gonna do now? I have to find him. I have to fix this.”

“Okay, well you do know his last name now. Call the hotels near the convention centre and ask to be connected to his room. Go online and find his home number in Churchill.”

“Good idea.” Cas goes back to his office and spends the next few hours calling hotels. He starts with the ones closest to where the PDAC is, and works his way outwards. No luck. It’s late when Meg comes in and pries him away from the phone, dragging him back to his apartment and ordering pizza.

They’re in Cas’s living room with pizza and a beer each when they do a 411 search for Dean Winchester on Cas’s laptop. No Dean Winchester in Churchill. Cas slumps over on the couch, defeated. “He must just have a cellphone.”

“How much longer is the convention on?” Meg asks, feeding Spock a piece of pepperoni.

“Two days.”

“Well then, you still have two days to find him.”

That night Cas tosses and turns, haunted by how close he’d been to getting Dean back. Worried what Dean must be thinking about him, seeing Michael kiss him.

The next morning, Cas hurries through his first-year course lesson, and cancels his office hours for the afternoon. He catches a cab to the convention centre as soon as he can, not even wanting to waste the time walking there. He heads through the exhibitors’ hall and finds the booth for Barrick Gold. But one of the guys staffing it is on the business end, from Toronto, and the other is a mining engineer from the Golden Sunlight property in southwestern Montana. Barrick is a huge organization, and the booth is busy, neither of the men seem interested in helping Cas track down a geologist in Manitoba.

He walks the aisles between booths in the exhibitor’s hall. No Dean. He goes into every lecture room and scans the seats. No Dean. He haunts the lounge where they met. No Dean. He finds a seat along a wall on the main concourse and tries to catch Dean walking along the hallway or taking the escalator up from the first floor. Still no Dean. It’s late and the exhibitors are closing up shop and heading out of the convention centre for drinks and dinner when Cas admits defeat and heads home. 

The next day is a carbon copy of the first. Cas has a sick feeling in his stomach that gets worse as the day goes by and nothing changes. Late in the afternoon, gambling that fate will replay their first reunion, Cas buys a beer and settles into the same chair he’d occupied two days previously, hoping against hope that he’ll look up agan and see Dean standing in front of him. He’s still sitting there, beer forgotten on the table beside him when the buzz of conversation in the hall around him rises as people start saying their goodbyes and then falls as the venue empties, the only people left are the ones disassembling the booths with quiet efficiency.

It’s over. He’s not going to find Dean. He stands, finally, and leaves, and when he gets back to his apartment, he has no memory of how he got there, as sunk in misery as he is.


	7. Chapter 7

Cas calls in sick the next day, unable to face the rowdy class of first-years or the complaints of Claire and the other grad students. He turns his phone off and mopes around the apartment in sweats, mostly ignoring the tv he has on for background noise, and feeding Spock more treats than are good for her. It’s suppertime when he hears the pounding on his apartment door. He looks through the peephole and it’s Meg, carrying a white plastic bag of take out and a bottle of wine. He opens the door without a word and moves out the way to let her in. She’s already talking.

“Hey.” She drops a kiss on his cheek. “When you went radio silent I figured it wasn’t good news. I’ve got Thai food and cheap Argentinian shiraz and a plan.” He still doesn’t say anything but goes back to the couch as Meg bustles around the kitchen gathering plates and glasses and utensils. She takes the lids off the containers he’s unpacked onto the coffee table as he stirs himself to pour the wine.

“Meg.” 

“Eat first. Talk later.” 

When they’ve both emptied their plates and sat back on the couch. Cas starts. “Sorry I turned my phone off. I couldn’t handle talking to anyone. Thank you for dinner. I don’t deserve you.”

“You really don’t.” She smiles.”It’s a good thing I love you.” She’s petting the cat that she professes not to like. 

“So, no luck finding him then?” Meg asks, changing the subject.

“Nope, and I looked everywhere.”

“Well, the only thing left to do, if you feel strongly enough about him, is to go back to Churchill and talk to him in person.”

“You’re not serious,” Cas says.

“I really am.” She sips at her wine.

“Just fly halfway across the country and turn up unannounced at his place? That’s crazy,” he scoffs. “What if he doesn’t want me after what he saw?”

“Cas, there’s only one way to find out. You can’t tell him your side of the story if you can’t actually talk to him.”

“No, that’s one hundred percent not going to happen.”

 

Cas turns and waves at Meg as she pulls away from the curb on the Departures level at Pearson. He hurries to check in and head for security. The airport’s fairly busy for a Friday morning and there’s a weird deja vu as he retraces his steps of months before on his first trip to Churchill. It intensifies when he finds himself buying gum and a paperback mystery in the same kiosk during his layover at the Winnipeg airport where he first saw Dean. He’s existing in a carefully constructed bubble that consists of both longing to see Dean again and anxiety at having to see Dean again, with what Dean must think. So he’s simultaneously thinking about Dean while trying not to think about Dean. _Schrödinger’s plane journey._

The two-hour flight to Churchill seems to take forever, he manages to sleep a little, his head pillowed on his wadded up parka against the window, but it’s only mid-afternoon when he lands. He takes a cab to the hotel where Charlie and Dorothy stayed. He left in such a hurry that he had totally forgotten to reserve a room, but he’s lucky, there’s one available. He figures he’s got a couple of hours to find out Dean’s address before he gets home from work. After he dumps his carry-on in his room, too antsy to change out of the white shirt and dress pants he’d put on that morning, he heads downstairs to the restaurant. ‘Ellen’s Place’ is burned into a honey-coloured slab of wood over the door. He sits at the bar and orders a beer and burger, suddenly famished. 

The woman behind the bar is in her late forties, with long brown hair, wearing a plaid shirt open over a dark green tee. Ellen, he assumes. Cas smiles to himself, another person Meg would call a hipster who really, really isn’t. She opens a beer for him, slides it across the bar, and excuses herself to go to the kitchen and put in his order. 

Cas sips his beer and texts Meg to tell her he’s arrived safely in Churchill and is on the hunt for Dean. Ellen is loading bottles of beer from a box into a fridge below the bar, and when she sees Cas put his phone down, she asks him if he’s ready for another beer.

“No,” he says, “I’ve still got half, thanks.” 

“So, what brings you here?” she asks. “Northern lights tour?”

The doors to the kitchen swing open and a young blonde girl comes out carrying his food and a bottle of ketchup. He thanks her before answering the question.

“No. I was here in December for the lights,” he adds some ketchup to his burger and then looks over at her. “Actually, I’m looking for someone. A friend who lives here.”

“Is that right?’ Ellen’s eyes are interested, but suddenly not very friendly. He presses on anyway.

“His name is Dean Winchester. You wouldn’t happen to know him, or where he lives, would you?” From the corner of his eye he sees the blonde girl turn and look at him.

“No, I don’t believe I do.” Ellen’s voice is cool, and she shuts the conversation down, as she busies herself cutting lemons behind the bar. Cas doesn’t believe her, but what can he do about it? He eats his burger and resigns himself to Plan B—walking up and down the streets of Churchill until he sees Dean’s house, he’s pretty sure he’ll remember it when he sees it. He has a street map of town, picked up at the airport, and is armed with the knowledge that the bears are all out on the ice of Hudson Bay at this time of year, hunting seals. 

Cas finishes his meal and leaves some bills on the bar to cover it and a tip. He thanks Ellen and wishes her a good day. Out in the lobby, he’s heading for the stairs to his room when the blonde girl who’d brought him his burger motions him over to where she’s sitting on the lobby couch.

“Hi,” she says when he sits down next to her. “I’m Jo. I heard you ask my mom about Dean Winchester.” Cas’s heartbeat quickens. “She doesn’t like to gossip about her friends to people she doesn’t know.”

“But you know Dean?” Cas asks, suddenly hopeful.

“Yeah, I do.” She sits back, considering. “Why are you looking for him? You’re not a cop or anything, are you?”

What can he tell her? _I spent the night with him and accidentally fell for him and then ditched him and then found him again but he walked in on my ex kissing me?_

“No, no, I’m not a cop. Um, we hung out together in Toronto, but I didn’t get his number.” It sounds lame to his ears.

“So...you came all the way from Toronto to Churchill to find him? Man, you must have it bad for him.”

Cas abandons all dignity. “Yeah, I kinda do.”

Jo leans forward and pats his shoulder. “Dean lives over on Thompson. I don’t know the number, but it’s the green house with the brown roof. A couple houses before James Avenue.”

“Thank you.” Cas’s voice is shaky. She smiles at him and then gets up and heads back into the restaurant as Cas is unfolding the map.

It takes barely half an hour for Cas to reach the street he remembers from his last visit. Even though he knows there are no bears around this time of year, he can’t help but look behind him every few steps. It’s still cold though, much colder than Toronto, and Cas is happy he’s got his parka and boots on. There’s no vehicle in the driveway of Dean’s house, a house he recognizes even without Jo’s description. He walks up the walkway that Dean had dragged him up the first time they met, and stands on the front porch, wondering what to do next. Dean’s obviously not home. He ends up sitting on the steps, hoping Dean comes home before he freezes solid.

Twenty minutes later the thinking about Dean/not thinking about Dean bubble finally bursts. What the fuck does he think he’s doing? This is crazy, chasing across half a country after a guy who probably hates him now. He’s just gonna pry himself off these stairs, walk back to the hotel, tail between his legs, and see if he can avoid Jo on his way to his room. Where he’s gonna have a hot, hot shower and hope all his extremities thaw out.

He’s shivering pretty hard, so it takes him a couple of seconds to get upright, and by then he hears someone driving down the street, and looks up to see a black pickup pulling into the driveway. _Dean_. The truck door opens, and then Dean’s there, at the bottom of the steps, looking up at him.

“Cas?” his tone is incredulous. “What? What are you doing here?”

“Dean.” It’s all he can get out around how hard his teeth are chattering.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, let’s get you inside where it’s warm.” And like an echo of that first night, Dean’s hands are on Cas, pulling him through the door and into the blessed warmth of the familiar living room. Cas kicks off his boots as Dean pulls his parka off him, and he stumbles over to the couch, Dean pulling the afghan off the back and wrapping it around Cas’s shoulders to stem the shivering. He’s spared talking right away as Dean strides into the kitchen and Cas can hear the sound of the tap running and the kettle being filled. He leans back and closes his eyes and doesn’t open them again until he hears Dean return.

“Here.” Dean hands him a steaming mug of something. Tea, it turns out, and Cas sips at it gratefully. Dean is still standing on the other side of the coffee table and Cas finds it difficult to look up at him and meet his eyes.

“So,” Dean starts, “I gotta say I never expected to see you waiting for me when I got home from work. Why are you here, Cas? Why are you in Churchill? I figured you were back with Michael. That _was_ Michael you were kissing, wasn’t it?” He sits down in the easy chair across from the couch, crosses his arms, and then waits for Cas to fill the silence.

“I’m not with Michael.”

“Well, you could have fooled me.” Dean’s voice is dry.

Cas sighs. “Let me explain. It really wasn’t what it looked like.”

“It looked like you were kissing Michael. Not ten minutes after you were kissing me.”

“I wasn’t kissing Michael, Michael was kissing me. And if you saw that, you obviously didn’t stick around for any time at all after that, or you would have seen me push him away and tell him we were over. And that I found someone else. It was just really bad luck that he came looking for me right when I found you again. Karma is not my friend.”

“I left to hit the can, and when I got back you were all over some other guy. What was I supposed to do, hang around and watch? Pick up some pointers?” Dean says acidly.

“I know it must have looked bad. I didn’t figure out right away that you’d seen the kiss, but not what happened next. After I told Michael to leave, I went looking for you, and Meg told me you’d left. That’s when I realized you’d seen us. I swear to god, Dean, I called every hotel in downtown Toronto looking for you. I went back to PDAC and searched for you. I was in a panic and I couldn’t find you anywhere.

It was awful. I finally found you again, and I was going to take you out for dinner, tell you how I felt about you, and then you were gone.”

Dean must be able to hear the upset in his voice. His arms drop from where they were crossed and he leans forward to pick up his own mug of tea from the coffee table. “I wasn’t staying at a hotel,” he says. “I was bunking in with a friend of mine from university, Ash. He runs IT for one of the hospitals downtown, lives out on the Danforth. I, uh, went back to his house and I was in a bad place, and he had tequila, so we got drunk and I bailed on the last couple of days of the conference. I didn’t want to risk bumping into you and the boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. Not anymore, not for a while. Not since well before New Year’s Eve.”

“You were still pretty hung up on him last time you were here, remember?” His voice is rough with emotion. “I saw you two and I didn’t want to get in the way. Seeing that hurt more than I thought it would, but if he’s what you wanted I didn’t want to wreck that. I didn’t want to get in the way. I just had to get out of there.”

Cas is struck dumb by this. Dean didn’t walk away angry, he walked away for Cas, for what he thought Cas wanted. Cas can’t think what to say as Dean shrugs helplessly, then gets up and starts turning on lamps. The room is growing darker as the sun sets. Cas finds words again. “Dean. Please come over here.” 

Dean resists for a moment and then sits heavily on the couch. Next to Cas, but not touching.

Cas turns so he’s facing Dean.“From the moment I ran out on you, I regretted it. I couldn’t think about anything else but you. I stopped thinking about Michael. I stopped thinking about pretty much anything that wasn’t you. I replayed that night in my head a thousand times. I kicked myself for leaving without learning your name or asking for your number.” Cas lifts his eyes from where they’ve been focused slightly west of Dean’s shoulder, and looks him in the eyes. “And then I found you again.”

“I think I kinda found you, Cas.” Cas smiles, Dean isn’t shutting him down, he’s actually joking. It’s a good sign.

“Stop wrecking my heartfelt speech.” He’s brave enough now to reach out and touch Dean, trailing his fingers down Dean’s arm before holding his hand. “And I still couldn’t tell you how I felt, and had to lure you back to my office like some kind of creepy old guy asking you back to see my etchings.” 

Dean laughs at this. “Dude, what are you? Eighty?”

“And then we kissed, and everything came rushing back. I wanted you so much. I couldn’t wait to leave the office, take you out. Take you home. And then Michael showed up. And I’m glad.”

“You’re glad?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, because when we were face to face, all I could think of was getting away from him. Seeing him made me realize that my feelings for him were gone. He kissed me and I felt nothing. No love, no passion, not even nostalgia. Just annoyance. I knew I wanted you.” Cas pauses, taking a deep breath. _It’s now or never_. “I know we haven’t spent much time together, but I want to give this a chance, Dean. This…whatever it is between us. I want to give it a chance to work. I think it can be something good.”

He doesn’t wait for Dean to answer, just leans forward and presses his lips to Dean’s. Dean doesn’t react at first, but slowly his lips part. Cas doesn’t do anything other than kiss him, hands cradling Dean’s face. Kissing needs his full attention, what with the way Dean smells and tastes, and Cas’s need to reassure him, to show Dean that he’s serious. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have acted so suddenly, but he finds it hard to regret it when Dean wraps his arms around his back, drawing Cas down flush against him. Cas decides he’s never letting go. His body is on fire as Dean presses his lips harder against his, a quiet groan vibrating deep in his throat. The sound sends a jolt through Cas’s entire frame, and the strong arms around him tighten as he shudders.

What sounds like a breath of relief passes between Dean’s smiling lips as he pulls away, just far enough to whisper, “I can work with that.”

Dean’s hands find their way into Cas’s hair. Clothes are pushed back and pulled off. Nails scrape across skin as Cas draws Dean up against him, and he feels the same mix of passion and euphoria as the last time.

Dean stands up, tugging Cas by the hand down the hallway to his bedroom. They make it halfway. Dean pushes Cas up against the wall, causing him to let out a groan. He can feel Dean’s mouth twist up into a satisfied smile as he continues kissing him. Cas retaliates by tugging at Dean’s hair, pulling his head away and giving them both a chance to breathe. Dean obliges, letting his head fall back and exposing his neck so Cas can kiss and bite along the skin there. He’s living for the ragged breaths Dean’s gasping out and the way he presses himself harder into Cas as if any space between them is too much space.

“We need to move,” Cas breathes out, his words faltering as Dean bites gently along his shoulder. “Unless you just want me to pin you to this wall and fuck you right here.”

“Who says I don't want that?” Dean teases, but slips out of Cas’s grasp and leads him into the bedroom. “But the bed’s more comfortable.”

“Maybe if I tie you to the bed, you can’t run away again,” Cas says, pressing Dean back against the mattress.

“ _Me_ run away? I’m pretty sure _you_ were the one who—” But Cas shuts him up with a kiss, and that’s the last talking they do for quite a while.

Green light plays across Dean’s face, shifting and shimmering over his features. Cas is lying beside him leaning on an elbow and running his fingers through Dean’s hair. He looks up. Through the space between the curtains, he can see the aurora, the emerald ribbons unfurling across the sky to the northeast, over Hudson Bay, its light bright enough to suffuse the room. He sits up abruptly, drawing in a reverent breath.

“It’s just the northern lights,“ Dean says sleepily.

“I know,” says Cas. “Come on, get up.” He pokes Dean in the side. Dean growls at him and pulls the covers up.

“No way.” Dean grumbles.

“Come on, come watch the lights with me.” He tugs on Dean’s wrist.

Dean sighs, but throws the blankets back and gets out of bed. They recover their clothes from where they’d been tossed and get dressed.

Dean grabs their coats and leads Cas out the back door. He brushes a thin layer of snow off a wooden picnic table set in the lee of the house. Hopping up, he sits with his feet on the seat. Cas sits down next to him, and Dean pulls him up against his side. Cas drops a kiss on Dean’s lips, content to cuddle close. He smiles to himself, this is what he had wanted. To see the northern lights with someone he cares about beside him, to share the experience. Cas knows they have a lot to work out, figure out how their lives will fit together. But he’s content for now. Together they watch the shimmering veils of light dance across the darkness, spirits dancing into the next world.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the part where I explain how fast and loose I played with the town of Churchill and the bears. By New Year's Eve, bears would already be out on the ice, the story would make more sense happening at Halloween, but hey, plot. Churchill is the polar bear capital of the world and does have bear and northern lights tours. It's also probably too small for Cas to get lost in, but again, plot. 
> 
> This excellent Lonely Planet [article](https://www.lonelyplanet.com/canada/manitoba/churchill/travel-tips-and-articles/polar-bears-close-encounters-of-the-furred-kind-in-canada/40625c8c-8a11-5710-a052-1479d276dfaf) about Churchill and its polar bears (including the intricacies of letting children trick-or-treat on Halloween night when as many as 800 bears are in the area) was a great reference.
> 
> Bear jail is a real thing, and you can see a short video about it [here](https://youtu.be/2u9ELPBIWWc).
> 
> I also played kinda fast and loose with the geology of the Churchill area. There are no gold mines near the town. The geology in the Churchill area is wrong for gold deposits. Say it with me: plot.
> 
> One of my favourite lines in the whole story came from [Stuckyparty](https://twitter.com/stuckyparty) and I gave it to Meg to say. And I bet Meg's been to Waco too. :)


End file.
